world lit in fire

AO3 - fanfic, obvs. Generally:

LOTR (Boromir lives; also Grima is around getting something like a “be marginally better please” arc),

Discworld (we love one (1) queer Lord Downey and that scag Dog-Botherer),

Star Wars (Krennic and Tarkin, divorced parents fighting over the custody of their child the Death Star Defense Sphere)

Some historical fiction (Marsilio Ficino and also the infamous crack Napoleon/Wellington nonsense)

Woodford Series - for those looking for the OG Napoleon/Wellington Murder Fairy series

Personal Website for Real Writing Things (I’m a poet and short story writer (there’s gotta be a better term for that), and working on a novel or two)

Writing Tag (it’s the wild west in there) 

Like the absolute nonsense I am as a person? I’ve got a ko-fi like a cool kid

If I think of anything else to add, I will update accordingly. 

I'm always happy to answer Napolington asks! Both Napoleon and Wellington are a lot of fun to bounce off each other because of both their similarities, in some respects, and their noted differences.

I'm slowly (slowly) reworking the Woodford AU so please have their meeting scene as it currently stands:

Arthur’s eyes cannot help but land on the man behind Betrand. Taller than his Grand Marshal of the Palace by an inch or so, Buonaparte is at once everything Arthur expected and nothing at all like what he expected. He looks Italian but not so Italian as to be obvious. Built a bit like a battering ram, he is all barrel chest and paunch and strong legs and jaw line – all of which clash with his more elegant, almost feminine features: eyes, nose, mouth, hands now that he is removing gloves to shake George’s hand since George has dismounted. Woodford could be shattered with a pin it is so silent. Dutifully, Arthur follows his friend’s lead and dismounts. Buonaparte’s eyes are equally riveted to Arthur, a similar dissection clearly happening on his side. What must he think? Arthur cannot imagine. Does not care in the slightest, but still. The thought occurs and must linger for a second. [...]

Buonaparte tilts his head as though thinking through his next action. This pause lasts longer than is polite or comfortable before he finally half-bows. Saying in French, ‘A pleasure, I’m sure.’ ‘Quite,’ Arthur replies in French. ‘How do you find England?’ A slight smile flutters across Buonaparte’s face. Amusement crawls into his eyes – as if everything before him suddenly became a joke. Arthur cannot help but bristle. ‘I find England to be much as I expected,’ Buonaparte says. ‘Green, pretty, more rain than reasonable.’ ‘And Woodford?’ ‘A lovely town. Everyone has been most welcoming to us wanderers when we washed upon her shores. What brings you here?’ Arthur glances at George then back, ‘Sir George is an old friend, and I thought it was time to visit. It’s been too long.’ ‘And the need to renew a friendship brought you all the way from Vienna?’ Buonaparte again tilts his head. It is a most cat-like expression. ‘It must be quite the friendship. Well, how did you find Vienna? Was it to your liking?’ Arthur manages a reply as he works out what was said and not said by the man. This silver eyed creature of destruction – if he were feeling dramatic in his epithets. Then, a swarm of questions come from the has-been general, most of which are unexpected: How does Arthur like music? What are his thoughts on French opera? Italian? Geometry? Has he a passion for literature? What has he read recently? Theology? Strictly Church of England, naturally, but has he never been interested in what others believe? The frameworks of their faith – the logic and illogics of religion? Does Arthur play anything? Oh, he means games or music – sure the duke may pick which one he wishes to respond to. Ah but Buonaparte has heard about some past with a violin and Josephine played harp so Buonaparte can speak to a musician for five minutes on the subject (Buonaparte greatly appreciates music, he informs Arthur, as he believes it lifts the soul into new heights, but he knows precious little about it). Arthur is not a musician he tells Buonaparte with stiff awkwardness. Buonaparte thinks that a pity. What does that mean? Nothing more than what was said. How was Paris when Arthur was last there? How were the people of France? How was the weather? Has Arthur a fondness for nature? Long walks and rides? Excellent, Buonaparte does as well. They agree that early morning is the best time for ambling about. What about history – does Arthur like that? Which eras? Which writers? Has he, himself, written anything on the matter? What does Arthur mean when he replies: Why should I have? Because it is interesting and worthy of comment! Arthur is a general, at the bare minimum he should have reflections on the great military leaders of the past. It is a deluge. Battering ram was the correct description both physically and in forcefulness of personality. Arthur is bowled over. He is aware of Bertrand’s faint amusement. Of the eyes of everyone on them. Buonaparte plucks at the history question a bit more – he quizzes Arthur about Caesar and Roman Britain and the Celts. He wants to know if Arthur has seen the barrows in the Shrubbery. He wants to know what Arthur thinks of them. He wants to know if Arthur has seen the wall in the north near Scotland. He wants to know if Arthur has seen any ancient artifacts. He wants to know if Arthur is familiar with the legends of Percival and Gawain and the Grail Quests. He wants to know what Arthur thinks about all of that – does he believe King Arthur was real? Does he believe him to be buried here in England or in France or down in Sicily? Then, without a blink, Buonaparte pivots. Smiles bright as the sun – if the day wasn’t already fine Arthur could see it becoming so. He understands what was meant when he was told that the Corsican’s smile could change the weather. He understands why Buonaparte’s eyes were described as his chief charm. [...]

‘You shall come for tea,’ Buonaparte instructs Arthur. ‘Is that not the English thing to do?’ ‘I can’t speak to my schedule,’ Arthur replies. ‘I am staying with friends, as you know.’ Buonaparte shrugs, alright, if Arthur so wishes. He then says something to Copenhagen in what Arthur presumes is Corsican and bids good day to Arthur and George. Therein ends the first meeting. ---

George laughs at Arthur all the way home. ‘I have never seen you so at a loss,’ George jostles Arthur’s arm. ‘I should have warned you that he is a bit of a terrier.’ ‘Terrier, Preston? Try a boar digging after truffles. Tenacious, unending, impossible to dissuade from its purpose.’ ‘I’ll tell him you said that.’ ‘You will not,’ Arthur sniffs, ‘if you count us friends. By Jove he’s a charger. No wonder he took the throne, he could walk into a place and make it his own by dint of willpower alone.’ George grins, full mischief which means Arthur is about to hear something he will probably wish he hadn’t. George in an impish mood has always proven dangerous. ‘What is this?’ George asks. ‘Do I hear something like admiration coming from my good friend Arthur Wellesley? Wellington and Bonaparte – now there’s a friendship to make Britain tremble.’ ‘I can admit a man’s powers when I see them. I can see why men followed him, that doesn’t make him less of what he is. Which is what? Second son of a parvenu lawyer from some barbaric island in the Mediterranean. Hardly the stuff of respectable gentlemen.’ He could bang on about how he would never countenance a friendship with such a man – and likely nor would Buonaparte countenance a friendship with him. They may be something like forced enemies by dint of circumstances, but Arthur believes he has heard enough about Buonaparte to know the man’s qualities. War mongering aside there is the arrogance, selfishness, pride, grasping desire for everything, inability to heed advice, tendency towards tyranny, ruthlessness &c. And to be sure, Arthur would trust Buonaparte to do something sensible with forty thousand men on the field – his talents as a military leader are not to be disputed – but he wouldn’t trust Buonaparte in any other capacity.

they have a lot of interesting overlaps in certain respects - which makes sense given they're only a few months apart in age and grew up around the same literary and intellectual movements of the time.

I also like that they were both practical jokers with a bit of a boyish and impish sense of humour that would come out from time to time. Absolute menaces, when they wanted to be. Both were womanizers in their own right. Indeed, they famously slept with a few of the same women (Arthur going around sleeping with a few of Napoleon's mistresses after he took France is certainly something!)

Napoleon would definitely be on Arthur to "do something" with his (possible) May 1 birth date because it's nice and auspicious.

Napoleon: Born on the side of the road in the midst of a thunderstorm on May day! Phenomenal. I wish I had that birth. Being born on the Feast of the Assumption on the living room rug after my mother powered through the remainder of mass after her water broke has less of a ring to it.

Arthur: But I wasn't born on the side of the road! That's literally not what happened.

Napoleon: Too late, I've decided it's true.

Arthur: W h y??

Napoleon: The essence of myth & legend baybyyyyyyy

Arthur: ... .. .,,, ..... god you're a piece of work

Napoleon, preening: Thank you.

I also do love their contrasting natures as well - where they become natural foils for each other.

Napoleon's imagination and flair for the dramatic around mythologizing himself and his life in comparison to Arthur's more sober (well...) approach to things.

Arthur being a man who likes to pound of a bottle of wine with dinner while Napoleon would have wine watered down and only a glass or two at most.

Napoleon having this phenomenal personal charm and charisma that was quite powerful while Arthur was as charming as a fish.

Both being brilliant generals but in very different directions and with different approaches (naturally reflecting that Napoleon could do what he wanted while Arthur was constrained by Horse Guards & London)

Arthur, the beau, was very attentive to his wardrobe and was a bit of a dandy (shhh don't tell him I said that) while Napoleon was always in out of date clothes that he wore too loose because he valued comfort and wearing the same three things over fashion (though, this isn't to say Napoleon didn't care about being seen as fashionable and well put together. He did, just on the day to day it was different)

Napoleon retained some of that idealism and Romanticism of his youth even as he evolved into the far more cynical and politicking emperor while Arthur pretty much cauterized that part of himself entirely

Arthur was quite honourable in many ways whereas Napoleon played a bit fast and loose with that

Napoleon's very open and affectionate relationship with his soldiers - even the common soldier - compared to Arthur's very regimented and classist approach

yeah that's more or less what I look like if you had to draw me like a piccrew

aww thank you! I very much love writing anything to do with early modern Florence - particularly Marsilio Ficino and the various people in his life, Lorenzo of course included. There's something so fascinating with their friendship and the push-pull between the two of them that I am endlessly engrossed by.

I think much of it really is bound up in the tragedy of Marsilio wanting Lorenzo to be a different man to who he fundamentally was and Marsilio not quite understanding that what he wanted was a foundational change versus just "Lorenzo being better than his worst sensibilities". Though there were true elements of Lorenzo not always being better than his worst sensibilities that Marsilio was right and good to critique - but still, Marsilio wanted an ascetic philosopher prince and Lorenzo was never going to be that. And Lorenzo I think wanted a bit more a traditional client-patron relationship with Marsilio and Marsilio was too much "part of the family" in way that was different to Angelo Poliziano for that to ever really work. Not to mention Lorenzo was too stingy by half.

Then there was the left over remains of their tutor-student relationship that underscored certain things. Marsilio could be condescending and prickly at times, and very much a man who would Tell You What He Thinks Whether You Like It Or Not (Giovanni: Marsilio. No.). This could make him difficult from a courtier perspective. Then there was Lorenzo, as he got into his twenties, not appreciating being told to stop whoring around and "come now, it's live up to your grandfather's expectations". Which, you know, I get. That's an understandable reaction.

They also had some overlap of the less fluffy sides of their personalities that made it so they grated against each other - both sharp, prickly at times, quick with a scathing rebutle, prone to deep depressive episodes, proud, perhaps a little arrogant and self-centred about their position &c. &c. and none of that helped anything of course.